


Honey and Quicksilver

by phia_nix



Category: The Bedlam Stacks - Natasha Pulley
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Pre-Canon, history of bedlam, markayuq backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 20:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18724030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phia_nix/pseuds/phia_nix
Summary: A priestess and a doctor, slowly turning to stone but with very human hearts. Set before the events of The Bedlam Stacks, featuring some original characters, and some you may recognise.





	Honey and Quicksilver

**Author's Note:**

> I burned through Watchmaker and Bedlam Stacks in the space of a week, and my heart has been aching for more of that sad-sweet love. I have some uneasiness about depictions of race and stuff in TBS, but I hope I'll be forgiven for loving it anyway. This story came to me in a flash, and I've developed a very long and convoluted narrative which ties up a number of unresolved plot points that have been bugging me - but knowing me, and my history of unfinished WIPs, I'll never get it all out in full. So, enjoy it as a one-off, and we'll see if the muse sticks with me long enough for a second chapter.

The sun had set hours ago, and her lover had still not returned to their home in the chapel. Ru’qa kept working on the garment in front of her by the light of a pollen lamp, trying to concentrate on the feel of leather beneath her fingers, the smell of burnt honey wax. This was part of the bargain, loving a doctor – sometimes, they had to work through the night. And (she tried to brush the thought away), part of the bargain of loving someone who was slowly turning into a markayuq… sometimes, they froze on the way home, and turned up the next day, or week, or month, and looked surprised when they saw your hair was longer and the garden was full of weeds.

If only they could synchronise their frozen spells so that they happened at the same time, Ru’qa thought. It wasn’t the first time she’d wished this, or mourned the time they had lost together, lives stopping and starting and only overlapping piecemeal. She sighed, rubbed the back of her neck, absentmindedly smearing wax over her skin.

With a jolt, she realised that the lamp had abruptly gone out. Except, they didn’t work like that – they wound down, dimming and dimming until they gently extinguished. She must have frozen, lost time. How much?

Footsteps sounded outside the church, and she was relieved to recognise the tread of her partner. The door opened, and light from a freshly wound pollen lamp streamed in –

‘Ru’qa? Why are you sitting in the dark?’

‘Pollen lamp wound down while I was… elsewhere.’ She stood up, crossed the floor and took the other woman in her arms. Even the soft, forgiving glow of the pollen lamp showed that her lover looked exhausted. There was a tightness around her eyes that Ru’qa wished she could wipe away, before it solidified there for eternity. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’

‘There were some new arrivals this afternoon. They said three of them set out from Huancavelica, but only two survived the pilgrimage. One of them was all right – no signs that I could see, not yet – but the other was tremoring like a leaf and could barely breathe.’ She paused. ‘You should go to bed. You’ll need to perform a funeral in the morning.’

Ru’qa tensed. ‘You’re not coming to bed with me? I’ve been waiting up for you.’

‘No. I need some time to myself, to talk to any gods who might listen. You might be the priestess for everyone else here, Ru’qa, but you’re not mine.’ She put the lamp down on the table for emphasis, with a strength that made Ru’qa jerk back, and there was the sharp sound of glass breaking. Shadows shifted in the kitchen as the lamp’s pollen was drawn to the jagged new crack in the lamp’s casing, a couple of motes slipping out and dancing around the silence between them.

Ru’qa turned, and made for the ladder that led up to the loft. Hand on a rung but feet still on the floor, she paused. ‘I know it’s hard. They die so easily. But you help them, Anka – really, you do. And they love you for it… as do I.’ There was no answer. Anka stood by the table, staring at the broken lamp.

*

Ru’qa dreamt of Anka as she had been, when they were younger, still training for their respective roles in New Bethlehem. The village had seemed simple and backwards after their home in the clouds, the air darker and thick as honey. But for them, it was a place of freedom – from the controlling strictures of their families, the priests’ lectures, and the confines of floating gardens and houses. Here, when their lessons for the day had finished, they could stray as far as they pleased – with no sudden deathly drops or lines of salt to limit them.

‘Ru’qa, look…’ Anka pointed to a flower, pink as passion, which blossomed on a shrub standing across the clearing.

‘Cantuta – my favourite!’ Ru’qa darted towards the shrub, but hesitated when she realised that she would not be able to reach it without taking an undignified leap. Close as they were, she still had an odd shyness around Anka, and didn’t want to look ridiculous before her. Not even for the first cantuta flower of the season.

She started when she felt Anka’s hand, gentle, on her shoulder, moving her aside. The taller girl reached up, balancing on the toes of her feet, and reached for the branch with the blossom. Even with the whitewood vest around her ribs, Ru’qa couldn’t catch up with her friend, who had developed faster than her in every respect. Even though they’d been born in the same week, Anka had had her first frozen spell, begun her monthlies, and shown the first swell of breasts months or years before Ru’qa… Although, she thought ruefully, if her mother and sisters were anything to go by, she might be waiting on that last one forever.

‘Ha,’ murmured Anka, triumphant, as her fingers closed around the stem of the flower. She plucked at it with force, obviously expecting more resistance than it gave, and lost her balance. The very same breasts which had just occupied Ru’qa’s thoughts brushed against her upper arm as Anka stumbled back onto the soles of her feet, arms still stretched up above her head.

Ru’qa moved quickly, catching her friend with an arm around her lower waist. Thankfully, she was already stronger than most boys their age, and righted her easily. ‘Careful – it’s just a flower!’

Anka turned to her, leaning into the circle of her arm. She pressed the slightly crushed blossom into Ru’qa’s other hand, eyes sombre but with a wicked spark deep within them. ‘No it’s not – it’s your favourite.’

There was barely time for Ru’qa’s breath to hitch before Anka’s lips were on hers. They were as soft as petals, and sticky as the honey they’d eaten from the comb that afternoon. As the two moved closer together, exploring the way their mouths could move against each other, Ru’qa realised: she wanted to be with this wonderful creature until their bodies, entwined, wore away into the mountain.

*

When she woke, Anka was beside her, sleeping curled up with her forehead on Ru’qa’s shoulder. There was a bracelet of knotted string around the priestess’s wrist – Anka must have tied it there, with her gentle surgeon’s hands, while she slept. She ran her fingers over the bumps, and the ache in her heart eased as she read the simple message: _I’m sorry. I love you too._

 


End file.
